


Popsicles are a Wolf's Best Friend

by thilesluna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkward Stiles, Bottom Derek, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, former porn star derek hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-16 01:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thilesluna/pseuds/thilesluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It seems like it would be a serendipitous thing, finding out that Derek was a porn star, but it’s not. Someone literally drops the link to one of his videos in Stiles’ inbox on tumblr. It’s an anon and he has no idea where it came from because all that’s in there is the link and nothing else. No ‘I thought you might like this’ or ‘hey guess what your friend Derek used to do’—not that any of his meager count of followers even know what Derek looks like, it’s not like Stiles posts pictures of his grumpy face or anything. The only thing they would know is his first name. Last names haven’t even been mentioned.</p><p>He may have been waxing poetry about Derek’s eyebrows and face and eyes and body but that’s not nearly enough clues for someone to be like ‘Hey! I know that guy and I watched him get railed in the ass by some hot as fuck beard-y dude’. Yeah, that’s right, this is porn with Derek bottoming and it’s kind of ruining Stiles’ life."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Popsicles are a Wolf's Best Friend

It seems like it would be a serendipitous thing, finding out that Derek was a porn star, but it’s not. Someone literally drops the link to one of his videos in Stiles’ inbox on tumblr. It’s an anon and he has no idea where it came from because all that’s in there is the link and nothing else. No ‘I thought you might like this’ or ‘hey guess what your friend Derek used to do’—not that any of his meager count of followers even know what Derek looks like, it’s not like Stiles posts pictures of his grumpy face or anything. The only thing they would know is his first name. Last names haven’t even been mentioned.

He may have been waxing poetry about Derek’s eyebrows and face and eyes and body but that’s not _nearly_ enough clues for someone to be like ‘Hey! I know that guy and I watched him get railed in the ass by some hot as fuck beard-y dude’. Yeah, that’s right, this is porn with Derek _bottoming_ and it’s kind of ruining Stiles’ life.

And the sensitive skin of his dick because he can _not_ stop watching which of course leads to jerking off and _God_ Derek has been in a lot of videos.

It’s the first one though, the inbox link that Stiles keeps coming back to. The guy fucking Derek is almost as hot as him and he’s _rough_ and _hard_ in all the ways Stiles wants sex to be when he eventually starts to have it on the regular.

It’s the fucking masterpiece of porn, really. Even the way it’s shot is fucking beautiful. Whoever filmed it must have had some real training because they catch the light in all the right ways and have the best angles that show off Derek’s face and his body and somehow simultaneously highlight the fact that he’s getting fucked within an inch of his life.

Because, honestly, Stiles has seen Derek try to lie. He’s not that good of an actor and the fucking noises he’s making as the other guy pounds into him are real and the way his stomach is clenching and his toes are curling is fucking _real_. Derek fucking loves it.

Yeah, the image of Derek with a hand around his throat and his back arching and his legs fucking spread is burned into Stiles’ mind forever.

Stiles wonders if he still gets fucked. If he still enjoys it as much as he used to. The videos are obviously old. He looks like he did right when he came back to Beacon Hills except with more beard—seriously baby face Derek still makes Stiles laugh—and maybe a little less muscle. He’s not like, skinny or anything just not the behemoth Stiles has become acquainted with. 

The video, God, it’s never going to get out of Stiles’ head. He can see Derek on his back with the guy pushing his cock between Derek’s lips, lifting his head until Derek is _choking_ on it. When he closes his eyes he sees Derek writhing on top of the other man, two fingers buried in his ass and he can hear the breathless little whimpers that spew from Derek’s mouth when he rolls his hips, fucking himself on them.

And Stiles—Stiles is never going to get the image of Derek riding his co-star, legs trembling as he lifts himself up and down slowly, rolls his hips like a fucking belly dancer until he gets dragged back, laid out on top of the other guy and just lets himself get _fucked_. Stiles is never going to stop hearing the punched out moans every time big-and-beardy drives up into Derek’s body with his arm around the werewolf’s neck holding him and just making him take it.

Derek comes untouched and Stiles can’t fucking stop touching himself.

\--

Of course, Stiles being who he is and his life being what it is, it all comes to a head in probably the most terrible way possible because he’s pretty sure Derek doesn’t know he’s doing it, but he’s _torturing_ Stiles.

Like Guantanamo level shit.

It starts when he tags along with Scott for Wolfiness 101 and has to watch Derek practice takedowns and holds with the betas that look like he actually learned them from porn. And Derek is _teaching_ so he’s the one that ends up beneath Scott and Isaac and Boyd and fuck—even Erica while Stiles tries to quell his rapidly growing erection because _werewolves can smell that_. What even is Stiles’ life? He might squeak and make an excuse when Derek basically _presents_ his ass in the teenager’s direction.

Holding on to whatever dignity he has left is worth the angry text from Scott for ditching him when he’s his ride home.

And then.

Popsiclepocalypse.

It’s hot, Stiles gets that. Even in Northern California summers can get hot and they’re in the middle of a heat wave so severe that he almost doesn’t have the energy to jerk off to Derek’s videos. Almost.

So he buys a pack of popsicles at the grocery store on a whim and brings them to the pack training session that, by the time he gets there, has devolved into a water fight and now Derek is _wet_. No.

Scott of course, doesn’t pick up on the fact that Stiles is frozen in the doorway looking at Derek in all his wet, muscly glory and yells, “POPSICLES!”

The pack goes wild and there are way too many of his friend with super smellers really close to him while he’s thinking about Derek being held face first on a bed and squirming with a tongue in his ass.

Oh god.

Derek of course is not immune to the draw of popsicles and Stiles himself with the unfortunate—or in reality very fortunate—view of the alpha practically _deep-throating a fucking cherry popsicle._

He wonders what he did in a previous life to deserve this fucking punishment.

And maybe the last thing is partially his fault but Stiles can't help it if he makes the best damn brownies in the town.

Derek, it seems, has a sweet tooth and loves baked goods the way a crack head loves...well, crack. Stiles hasn't even taken them out of the oven yet when there's a thump from upstairs and then Derek's scrambling into the kitchen, his nostrils flaring.

"No," Stiles exclaims when the werewolf tries to open the oven door. "Bad Alpha," he says smacking Derek's hand with a wooden spoon. He swears the guy pouts. Which is not fucking adorable. At all.

"Stiiiiles," Derek tries.

"Nope." Stiles turns to the counter and grabs a piece of paper to shove in the Alpha's face. "These are for the Sheriff's Department bake sale to raise money for those awesome bullet proof vests for the dogs. You do not get to hoard them again like last time."

"I didn't _hoard_ them," Derek scowls.

"You did. You growled at Scott when he tried to take one," Stiles says flailing his arms. "You were like a mama bear protecting her cubs."

"Come on, Stiles! Just one, I will literally get on my knees and beg." And fucking Christ, he actually does and Stiles' mouth is suddenly dry. Because this is not the first time he's seen Derek on his knees begging even if it is the first time in person. No, the first time was Derek on his knees begging to have his mouth fucked until he was choking, and holy god.

Derek seems to notice the tension that's locked up Stiles' body because he tilts his head to the side the _same fucking way_ he did in his video and someone was about to come on his face.

"Stiles?"

"Derek I--um I have to go. Do a--a thing with, uh the stuff. You know...yeah," he stammers. "Just like, help yourself or whatever--oh my god." And then he gets the fuck out of there.

Derek doesn't leave through his window but when Stiles hears the front door close he rips open his jeans and comes about two seconds later.

\---

"What is the matter with you."

Ah, the patented non-question question.   Derek Hale specialty.

It's two days after the brownie fiasco and Stiles as successfully avoided everyone he knows and spiraled into a vicious circle of hating himself for wanting to fuck Derek into some sort of surface and watching other people fuck Derek into all sorts of surfaces.

"There's nothing the matter with me," he says tiredly. There's a lot the matter with him.

"Scott says he hasn't seen you in two days. Your window has been locked and the curtains drawn." Derek's eyebrows are judging him and all he can think about is how they looked streaked with come.

"I'm fine, really," but it sounds hollow even to his own ears.

"Tell me what's going on Stiles or I will sick Lydia on you to figure it out," Derek threatens and, low blow.

Stiles groans and bangs his head onto his desk. "It's personal."

"You're in my pack. I'm supposed to help you with everything."

"You don't wanna help me with this, believe me," Stiles laughs.

Derek's whole body is frowning at him now and he doesn't even know how that's fucking _possible_. "Stiles."

"Derek."

"Is someone threatening--"

"Oh my god, no. It's not that." Stiles runs a hand through his hair and let's out a laugh that sounds like it’s bordering on hysterical. There's probably only one way to do this--okay no there are a lot better ways but this one seems the most fun. "Promise not to kill me?"

"Stiles what are you--"

What he's doing is marching up to Derek, fitting one hand over his throat and grabbing a handful of the Alpha's thick hair with the other to wrench his head back. Derek's eyes slip closed and even without that Stiles would know he liked it because he's been watching Derek submit like this over and over for a fucking _month_. He feels more than hears the growl rip from Derek's throat because his pulse is thundering in his ears.

"I know you like this, Derek," Stiles murmurs against the werewolf's cheek. "I've watched all the videos. All of them."

Derek's eyes are still closed and Stiles can feel him swallow where his palm is fitted to the Alpha's skin. "Stiles--I--"

Oh god, Stiles is going now. He's this far and he's not gonna stop now. "Was that just when you were a good little beta or do you still like to get fucked?" Derek whines when Stiles tightens his hand in his hair as he asks.

"Stiles--"

"Answer the question, Derek."

"I haven't--since New York I haven't been--I wanted to but I didn't--" Derek pants when Stiles backs him up against the wall.

"Didn't what?"

"No one I trusted," Derek says simply, rubbing his hips against the teenager, rutting against him like some kind of animal.

Stiles works a hand between them, unbuttons Derek's jeans and slips it inside. "Do you trust me?" He asks before he can get a hand on Derek's cock. He waits, playing with the band of Derek's boxer-briefs.

"Y-yes-- Stiles please."

"You're so pretty when you beg," Stiles says. "I thought I was gonna lose my mind when you got on your knees in my kitchen." He wraps his hand around the back of Derek's neck and pulls him into a kiss. It's so fucking perfect after watching The Alpha kiss all those other men. Derek has had more experience than him and it shows when he takes control and walks Stiles backwards to the bed. And Stiles knows where this is eventually going because he can feel how ramped up Derek is but he think he could do this--just revel in the wet, warm slide of Derek's tongue against his own and their bodies for snugly together.

When they fall to the bed Stiles wraps his leg over Derek and flips them so he's hovering over the older man. He wants to tell Derek how fucking beautiful he is, how even in the shitty light of Stiles' bedroom he looks like something that should be on display in a museum of fine arts where people go to debate what the ultimate beauty to ever be created is ad Stiles doesn't think for a fucking second Derek wouldn't come out on top of that.

Speaking of on top...

"What?" Derek asks and Stiles realizes he's still just staring down at him.

"S'nothing," he lies, grateful that he doesn't get called on it. He pushes Derek's shirt up to his armpits, touching and pressing his sides, the soft skin of his stomach, scratching his nails through the trail of hair that leads to the open expanse of the man's jeans. Derek is twitching beneath him, he lets out a sigh when Stiles rubs firmly at his nipples and Stiles remembers that from the video. He leans down to scatter wet, sucking kisses to the Alpha's stomach and chest while Derek struggles out of his shirt and pulls frantically at Stiles'.

"Please, off," he grunts. "Wanna feel you." And Stiles stops what he's doing long enough to yank his t-shirt over his head and toss it behind him so he can return to causing those _sounds_ to fill his room. It's so much different than watching and listening to the videos with his headphones. Every whimper and groan hits him right in the chest and feel like they're ripping him open, somehow in a good way.

He attacks Derek's nipples with his lips and his teeth, switching back and forth until they're both red and sensitive and the other man is whining and pulling him away. They kiss again and Stiles decides he needs kissing Derek like he needs air and Netflix and curly fries. He doesn't even realize he's rutting up against the man beneath him until Derek breaks a kiss to moan and grip Stiles' ass tightly to rock them together more forcefully.

"Lube Stiles--get--do you have some? We could do spit--" Derek growls against Stiles' neck when he finishes sucking a nasty, wonderful bruise there. "I'll be fine--were--"

"If you say 'werewolf healing' I will end you." Stiles frowns pulling Derek's head back by his hair to look at him. "I'm not ever going to be impatient enough or that much of a dick to just accept hurting you because 'you can take it'." He runs his thumb along the most ridiculous cheekbones the world has ever created. "I'm a 19 year old boy who's been fantasizing about you since the first time I met you. Of fucking course I have lube." The look Derek gives him makes him want to laugh but at the same time it's one of the most unguarded ones he's ever seen on the man's face and he looks even more beautiful than he did before. He wants to say there are more ways of hurting than physically, he wants to tell Derek that he never wants that to happen again because Derek’s already been broken so many times.

Instead, Stiles climbs away to his headboard to grab the bottle of lube before he says something he regrets because _feelings_. When he turns back, Derek is sliding himself free from his pants and underwear and Stiles freezes, swallowing thickly. The werewolf smirks and reaches down to stroke himself slowly and Stiles, more than anything, wants to taste.

He only gets tangled in his own pants for a second and then he’s pressing himself along Derek’s side and grabbing the Alpha’s wrist gently. Derek stills and the shudders a delicious full body thing when Stiles’ other hand lifts his leg up over his hip, baring the wolf’s ass. He ruts once against the small of Derek’s back because he can’t help himself.

“Stiles—“ the werewolf breathes, and Stiles is so _fucked_ because the way Derek says his name knocks the air right out of his lungs. He can’t say anything so he just licks into Derek’s mouth again, pressing the slick pad of one of his fingers against the man’s hole, not pushing in, just circling slowly. Derek closes his eyes when they break apart and his cock twitches against his stomach. “C’mon, Stiles—“

His body goes taught when Stiles pushes the finger inside. Stiles is barely even halfway in when Derek growls out “More,” and he hesitates. Derek looks wrecked with his legs spread and his fists tight in the sheets but he doesn’t look uncomfortable. “Stiles, I finger myself often. More than I should probably. Just fucking put your goddamn fingers in me,” he says.

Well in that case.

Stiles adjusts so he’s lying between Derek’s legs and slides home with two fingers now, scissoring them, opening the werewolf quickly and efficiently. He remembers the sounds Derek made in the video when the beardy guy rimmed him and he’s suddenly glad he bought cherry-flavored lube on a whim. He noses around Derek’s balls first, taking in the slightly sour smell of sweat and whatever smell that clings to the wolf always. His Derek-ness. Whatever it is it’s distracted Stiles on more than one occasion.

When his tongue pushes in along side of his fingers, Derek’s back arches and his hands scramble for Stiles, his shoulders, hair, anything. “Fuck—Stiles—Jesus fucking—“

Stiles grins as much as one can with their face buried between someone’s legs and plunges his tongue in as deep as he can around his fingers. He pulls back, tracing where the rim is stretched around his fingers with his tongue, scraping at it gently with his teeth, and Derek cries out, body stiffening as he comes.

“Jesus, Derek—“ Stiles breathes, fingers still working in and out of the Alpha, though more slowly now. He watches the rapid rise and fall of Derek’s chest, the way his cock stick twitches when Stiles spreads his fingers. His eyes are closed, head thrown back against the bed and there’s come spreading and dripping, sliding down the slope of Derek’s chest before Stiles catches it with a finger and brings it to his lips. Derek looks up at the touch along his side as Stiles’ fingers in him slow and eventually stop, just in time to see the younger man’s come-coated finger disappear between his lips. He groans and flops his head back onto the sheets.

“—gonna kill me,” he mumbles.

“We’re not done yet,” Stiles replies, crooking his fingers and catching Derek’s sensitive prostate. The wolf tries to close his legs, but he’s fucked out and almost pliant when Stiles stops him.

“Fuckfuck, _Stiles_ ,” Derek says, reaching for Stiles.

“I said I was gonna fuck you, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Derek moans when the pads of Stiles’ fingers brush his prostate again and thrusts his hips, seeming unsure of whether he wants more or less of the sensation. “Okay,” he says, relaxing against the bed, “Okay I trust you—just fucking— _please_.”

It’s enough to have Stiles gripping at the base of his own dick because of the mere combination of Derek giving Stiles this—telling him he trusts him with this and basically _begging_ for it at the same time has Stiles’ head swimming. He withdraws his fingers from Derek’s heat—to a dissatisfied noise from the werewolf that he’s one hundred percent in agreement with—and squirts more lube them. When he comes back, it’s with three. He works them in slowly, watching Derek for clues, though the only one he gets is the sight of the Alpha’s dick getting hard again and the come from his first orgasm starting to dry on his chest.

He can’t see Derek’s face that well where he’s got his head thrown back so he works his fingers until they find the man’s prostate again and says “Look at me,” right as he presses down. Derek’s head shoots up and his eyes fly open and he looks _debauched_ which is a word Stiles though was reserved for bad romance novels, but _Jesus fucking Christ_.

He’s got his fingers buried to the second knuckle and Derek’s making these little punched out sounds every time they go near his prostate. It’s the murmured plea that falls from the Alpha’s lips, the “Stiles please—I fucking need—just more, please,” that has him finally withdrawing his fingers and slicking up his cock.

“Do you—condoms?” Stiles knows he’s clean from the test he got on AIDS awareness week back at school before the term let out.

“I can’t carry—werewolf—“ Derek pants. “I trust you, Stiles. Fuck—please.”

“Okay, yeah—okay,” Stiles grunts out. “How do you want—“

“Let me—can I ride you? I want to take you as far as I can. I want to feel you, Stiles,” Derek says, eyes locked on Stiles’. The teenager nods, climbing from between Derek’s legs to the middles of the bed where he stacks pillows behind him to support his upper body. He doesn’t want to lie flat in case it makes it harder to see Derek and his headboard/shelf combo makes it impossibly to lean against. Derek moves smoothly towards Stiles, but at the same time, he almost looks shy, maybe a bit reserved, like he thinks this is all going to stop any second.

When he gets close enough, Stiles grabs him and pulls him close, trying his best to put his amazement and desire into one kiss to let Derek know he’s not going anywhere. The Alpha almost collapses against him, slotting their lips together and rutting against Stiles’ stomach. He’s already half-hard again and when Stiles wraps a hand around him, he shudders out a breath against the younger man’s lips. Derek reaches behind him and lines Stiles’ cock up with his hole. Stiles hands shift, one to Derek’s hip, the other to the small of his back as the man works himself steadily down until he’s flush with Stiles’ body.

It’s nothing like the other sex Stiles has had.

And it’s not like Stiles would ever complain about any of his past sexual partners, because let’s be real, barring actual physical injury during sex, it’s like curly fries. It’s always good.

But this. This is something new because he feels the heat of Derek to his fucking _bones_ and he’s trembling when Derek moves his hips, pulls himself off Stiles’ cock just to drop himself back so his ass is hitting the teen’s thighs with soft slapping noises. This is Derek throwing his head back and moaning better than any porn, better even than the porn _of_ him that Stiles has been obsessing over for a month. This is the air being punched from his lungs only to ghost over Derek’s lips where they’re inches from his own when he pushes their foreheads together.

Derek is tight and wet and _hot_ around Stiles. He wants to stay like this forever but Derek is whining against his lips and he’s been hard for what feels like _hours_ so he helps the Alpha lift himself, gets him braced on shaky legs and starts to thrust, a little unevenly at first, but he finds his rhythm eventually. Derek’s making these little whimper-moans that catch in his throat and squeeze past his lips and Stiles is torn between wanting to hear them and wanting to press his mouth against Derek’s a fucking wreck it—make it swollen and pink just like the rim of his hole looked earlier.

Stiles gets both his hands under Derek’s ass, palming him and holding him up. He works his fingers closer and closer to where he’s fucking up into the werewolf’s body until he’s almost pressing the tip of one of his index fingers in along side his cock. He touches the tight ring of muscle with something bordering on reverence and Derek’s hips jump.

Stiles is close but he wants Derek to get off first. He lifts and pitches forward, flipping Derek onto his back and then he’s fucking into him as hard as he can—slow heavy thrusts that make a lewd noise and rock Derek’s body—and the wolf is whining and reaching for Stiles’ arms where they hold his legs up and open.

“S-Stiles, fuck—“ he grinds out.

“Touch yourself Derek. I wanna feel you come—“

It doesn’t take more than half a dozen strokes before Derek is coming over his hand and chest, clenching down hard enough that it almost hurts when Stiles chases his own orgasm. He moves faster, uncoordinated and sloppy, pushing Derek’s hand away and wringing the last of his come from him until the combination of pressure on his dick and the way Stiles’ cock is grazing his prostate is too much and he begs for the younger man to let go.

“Stiles, come on. Fucking come in me,” Derek moans. “Fucking fill me up. Mark me on the inside—“ He reaches up and pulls Stiles down to kiss him and the hot knot of pleasure in Stiles’ stomach bursts as he empties himself into Derek.

They stay together until Stiles has softened significantly and Derek starts to complain about how heavy he is. When he rolls to the side, though, the Alpha wraps an arm around his shoulder and brings him back so they can kiss lazily as the Sun sets outside.

“Derek?”

“Mmm?”

“When you did—the beardy guy from one of your videos—“

Derek opens one eye from where he appeared to be dozing. “Colby?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles says, swallowing. “Was I as good as him?”

Derek laughs and kisses him. “Better.”  
“Really?”

“Stiles, I’ve been thinking about you fucking me since you brought us the popsicles,” Derek says with a huff.

Stiles sits up on the bed and stares down at him. “You were deep throating that popsicle on purpose, you little shit.”

The werewolf laughs again—and damn isn’t that a great sound—and pulls Stiles back against his chest. Even as he falls asleep to the gentle rhythm of Derek’s breath, Stiles resolves to get even.

**Author's Note:**

> one time i spent like 5 hours watching porn and a lot of it was dale cooper who looks like derek oops
> 
> you can find me on tumblr under the same url


End file.
